


never let me go

by nolightss



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Josh Dun, Disfigurement, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Recovery, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17863823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nolightss/pseuds/nolightss
Summary: in which tyler is a monster, josh is a painter, and they feed the birds.sort of a frankenstein au.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> set in new york city, sometime in the early 2000s.
> 
> title from florence + the machine's _never let me go_ , and from kazuo ishiguro's novel _never let me go_.

_"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."_ -mary shelley, frankenstein

 

* * *

  

on september 15th, tyler joseph moves into 17 mott street, unit 3. a group of men bring bland furniture, a suitcase, and enough food for a week. they leave the door unlocked behind them, and tyler wakes up.

 

* * *

 

every day, you walk the 20 blocks from your apartment in chinatown, up to the park at union square. you don't remember a day where you _haven't_ done this. you have never given that fact much thought. you stop at the bodega two blocks down, order a coffee from the kind man at the counter, and begin your steady pace.

 

the sky is clear this afternoon, deceptive against the frigid cold. the sidewalk is a rush of people, paying no mind to you. the eye contact you make is fleeting, intentionally incidental. they see your face, and they avert their gaze. it is a game you are used to.

 

it becomes a rhythm after five or six blocks, the throngs of commuters and kids leaving school creating a stream, buoying you, until you're spit out from the corner to cross the wind tunnel of an avenue. you pull your hood up further.

 

you stop about halfway there, at the corner of mott and bleecker, and sit on the stoop of one of the buildings there. you find that you tire easily, your knees fatiguing without warning. you sit on the stoop in the cold, watching the wind whip around the thin trees on the median. a woman across the street pushes a stroller, pauses and reaches in, tucking its passenger in further against the cold. you watch her coo and smile into the stroller, her face warm and kind. she keeps walking, and engaging in one sided conversation with the child inside. you wish you could hear her, but you're too far, the wind and traffic too loud.

 

you arrive at the park just as the sun is setting. it's busy, despite the cold, the lights from the buildings circling the square basking it in a strange, cool glow. you weave through the groups of tourists, the buskers, the crowded subway entrance and into the park itself, quieter, calmer. you sit on the first empty bench you find, and watch the pigeons argue and fuss over the crumbs in the sidewalk cracks. a man jogs by, and they scatter, fleeing his bright nikes before returning to their debacle.

 

it's dark now, the lights along the walkway now lit. you watch a group of people settle in the corner between the walkways, spreading blankets and settling their belongings. another man walks by, and he stops when he sees them. you are drawn to him, suddenly, and you can't pinpoint why. is it the powder blue hair? it must be. he hands them something, and before walking away, looks over his shoulder. he gives you a little wave, and you fumble before waving back. you've never been truly acknowledged on one of your walks before. it feels strange. you stay with that feeling, and let it sit in your stitched up chest, dispersing into your blood and dyeing it pale, pale blue.

 

-

 

jenna lives across the hall from you. she's the first person you remember speaking to at all, ever since--

on september 16th she knocked on your door with a tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookies. when you opened the door, she didn't falter at the sight of your face, rather, she held the container out to you, and said “these are for you. a housewarming gift.” you took the container. you could feel the warmth of them through the plastic.

“i'm jenna,” she told you, sweet and airy.

“tyler. i'm tyler,” you answered, and if you fumbled over your words, she wasn't the one to call you on it. she gave you a sweet goodbye, and the doorway smelled like oranges.

 

the second time you met jenna, she was at your doorway with a pan of pasta.

“i brought dinner. i don't see you go out much, and i'm worried.”

your mouth went dry. people worry about you?

“was that too forward? you don't have to let me in.”

she didn't sound disappointed by this prospect at all. you realized you hadn't eaten since the previous evening.

“no, no, it's fine. come in.”

over dinner, you learn that she's from ohio, has two sisters and a brother, and that she's a nurse at the hospital a few blocks down. you wondered if that was why she never asked about your scarred face and hands. she seemed content to do most of the talking, and you appreciated that. you find you haven't have many words at all, ever since--

the food was good. you told her this. she smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear.

“thank you, tyler.”

 

-

 

the evenings are strange. you've always been set in a routine, of eating something premade from the fridge, reading for an hour or so, showering, and then going to bed.

the bathroom light is very blue. while you wait for the water to sputter to life and heat to a reasonable level, you watch yourself in the mirror. you never think about _how_ you got the scars, you've just accepted them as a fact of your being. perfect incision scars creating a patchwork of skin across your body, a grotesque mosaic of a man.

the mirror begins to fog. you step into the shower.

 

-

 

you take your walk early the next day, morphing with the morning commuters rather than the evening. at your stop at bleecker and mott, you watch kids running to school, backpacks in tow, chattering and giggling in the cool morning sun. the kids don't look at you the way the adults do. they're not shy in their inspection of you, and you find that far preferable to the fleeting looks and over the shoulder glances, everything so poorly disguised. you appreciate their honestly.

 

by the time you arrive at union square, the commuters and students have dispersed to their respective corners for the day. the park is quieter, easier on the nerves.

 

you sit on a bench on the outside of the park this time, facing the streets and the traffic and the people walking from corner to corner. the pigeons and sparrows seemed to have followed, bringing their tittering and arguments right in front of you.

 

they disperse, briefly, at the arrival of a pair of chunky red sneakers. you look up, and are met with curly, powder blue hair coming towards you and your bench. the man has two loaves of bread in his arms. he sits down next to you, and you try not to breathe.

 

by the time he's opened a loaf, the birds have returned, and by the time he's thrown one crumb to them, they frenzy for more.

“want some?” the man asks.

you startle, and nod.

he hands you a slice.

you focus on breaking it into neat pieces, and toss it gently to the birds. they squawk and coo and you crack a smile.

you sit in silence for awhile, tossing bread to the now large amount of birds at your feet, the man handing you another slice each time you run out of your own. you bask in his attention, regardless of how small it is. it's warm. he's warm.

“where did you get all this bread?”

he laughs, his grin pearly and infectious.

“i work at the grocery store over there.” he points to the corner across the way. “we can't sell stale bread, so i take it and give it to the birds.”

you watch two pigeons fight for a particularly large hunk of bread. you toss another piece to break it up.

“is that what you were doing the other night?” you ask.

he shrugs.

“food doesn't always expire when they say it does. may as well give it to someone who needs it.”

you nod.

“what's your name?” he asks.

“tyler.”

he smiles again. “sick. i'm josh.”

“sick,” you echo. you throw another piece of bread.

josh glances at his watch. “i should head back to work soon. will i see you around here again?”

“yes,” you answer. “i'm here every day.”

he shoots you finger guns.

“sick.”

 

-

 

you don't see josh again for another week.

 

the night after you fed birds together, you told jenna about him.

you're sitting cross legged on your living room floor, with containers of chinese food from the restaurant downstairs spread between the two of you. she'd brought it up on her way home from work. she's still in her scrubs. they're pastel pink and worn at the seams.

“his hair is pale blue,” you tell her. it feels important to tell her this. “like the sky before it snows.”

she looks at you thoughtfully over her carton of lo mein. “you are awfully poetic sometimes, you know that?”

you shove a spoonful of fried rice into your mouth.

“it's cute. he sounds cute. what's his name?” she narrows her eyes. “you do know his name, right?”

“i do! it's josh!” she laughs at your exclamation. “his name is josh.”

she scrapes the bottom of her container. “well i think you should give _josh_ your number.” did she just wink at you?

you feel yourself blush. you force more fried rice into your mouth.

“maybe next time,” you mumble. she smiles, and starts stacking the empty cartons.

 

-

 

it's unseasonably warm the next time you see josh. the city seems to have woken up from a deep sleep, the sidewalks crowded with people making the most of the warmer weather.

 

you find josh inside the park when you finally manage to shake off the packs of tourists shooting glances your way. he's sitting alone on a bench, watching the sparrows converse on the walkway. he has no bread with him today. he's still wearing those giant red sneakers. his hair is still blue.

you sit down next to him. he looks over suddenly, brow furrowed, but his whole face shines when he registers that it's you.

“hey, tyler,” he says, and his voice matches the feeling of the sun on your face.

“hi,” you answer. you look at the birds. “no bread today?”

he laughs, his eyes bright. “today's my day off, so i haven't been in to get more.”

you nod. two teenagers walk by holding hands and chattering. josh watches them as they go by. you watch josh.

“wouldn't you not want to be by your work on your day off?” you ask. he gives you a funny smile in response.

“it's kind of silly, but. i paint-- i'm a painter in my spare time, and i like coming here for inspiration.” he watches the sparrows. “lower manhattan has the most interesting people on this whole island.”

you feel like you understand, but you're not sure if you have anything to compare it to.

he turns to you. “does that make sense?”

“yes. sometimes the most mundane is the most interesting.”

he smiles, huge and white. “yeah, you get me.”

 

-

 

there’s a large bookcase in the living room of your apartment. nearly all of them are nonfiction, dry biographies and tomes recounting painfully dull historical events. you read them anyways. you don't remember buying them, but you soak them up despite this.

you find one fiction title amongst the lot. it's small, a thin paperback tucked between a biography of a civil war general and a hardcover recounting of the history of mapmaking in the 17th century.

 _never let me go_ , the cover states. something about it feels illicit, as if you aren't meant to be holding it. it couldn't be more than 300 pages, but it feels so heavy in your hands.

you put it back on the shelf.

 

-

 

the day after you find the book, josh passes you in the park. he says he needs to go to work, but he gives you his phone number on the back of a receipt. his handwriting is neater than you expected.

 

-

 

there's no phone in your apartment.

 

you knock on jenna's door across the hall. you fidget with the receipt while you wait, folding and unfolding, lining up the creases against the seams on your palms.

 

the door opens.

 

“hey,” jenna says, easily. “what's up?”

you hold up the receipt. “can i use your phone?”

she gives him a funny look. “you don't have a landline?” you shake your head.

“never needed it until now.”

she opens the door further. “it's on the table next to the couch.”

jenna's apartment is soft. the carpets, the furniture, the light, is warm and comforting. it smells like oranges.

you pick up the phone, listening to the dial tone as you punch in the number. you fidget with the cord as it rings.

“hello?” josh sounds like sunshine.

“hi. it’s tyler.” your mouth is dry.

“hey tyler!” he sounds genuinely happy that you called. you don't know what to do with that. “how's it going?”

“i’m alright,” you clear your throat. “i don’t have a phone. this is my neighbor’s.”

josh laughs, but it’s a kind laugh. it's not what you hear from teenagers on the subway.

“no worries, man.” you smile. a beat of silence. jenna watches from the kitchen.

“remember how i told you that i paint?” josh asks.

“yes,” you answer.

“could i, uh,” he sounds nervous. you feel the sudden desire to see his face, to connect the dots. “do you think i could paint you sometime?”

you swallow. your throat clicks. you barely look in the mirror. the idea of someone watching and recording you for so long makes your hands sweat.

jenna mouths a _you okay?_ from the doorway. you give her a weak thumbs up.

“tyler? you there?” he still sounds so nervous. the unshakable fear that it's your fault settles in your chest.

“yeah, yeah, sorry.” you start fidgeting with the phone cord again. “you can paint me, sure.” you try and sound confident.

“awesome!” you can hear the anxiety washing away in josh's voice.

you write down his address on autopilot, using the pen next to the phone. blood rushes in your ears.

“i'll see you tuesday, tyler.” you hear josh say.

“yeah, bye.” the phone clicks.

you stuff the receipt into your hoodie pocket, thank jenna, and go back across the hall. you take _never let me go_ off the bookshelf, and put it on the table next to your bed. you fall asleep.

 

-

 

on tuesday you walk to josh's apartment. it’s bitterly cold, your hood doing little to block the wind. _never let me go_ is stuffed in your hoodie pocket under your coat.

josh's apartment is tucked on a tiny side street in the bowery, not far from your apartment. it's brick, with a painfully tiny staircase to climb once he buzzes you in. it's a relief when you get to his floor.

 

he's standing in the doorway when you arrive, clothes stained with paint, smile painted on his face. you could fall asleep to that smile.

“hey,” he says easily.

you wave, your voice seeming to leave you. his smile doesn't waver. he leads you inside.

 

josh's apartment is warm. you stand in the doorway of his room, taking it in. there are books and CDs and art supplies in a sort of organized mess, and as you watch him step into the room, he seems to become one with it. as if he'd painted himself into a perfect color harmony with his bedroom.

he turns around. you're still standing in the doorway.

“you okay?” he asks.

you nod, and step further in. he shuffles around the room, pushing piles of supplies aside and moving boxes and stacks of paper off a worktable.

“do you mind sitting on my bed? i don't have another chair.” he looks nervous to ask you this. you'd do anything he told you, at this point.

you shake your head. “as long as it's okay with you.”

he straightens up the comforters and blankets. “it's fine. sorta my fault really.” he scratches the back of his neck. “i need to get a stool or something.”

you sit down on the edge of his bed. it smells like him. it smells like sunshine and hair dye.

he settles at the desk chair, after dragging a small easel in front of him, and digging a canvas out from behind his desk. it's smaller than you expected, only barely blocking your view of him. the setting sun comes in the window behind him. his curls are frizzy and wild in the light.

“tyler?”

“sorry?”

“it's cool. you spaced out a bit there.”

you blink, clearing the hazy feeling from your head.

“do you mind taking your coat off?”

you take off your parka, set it behind you on the bed. he gives you a once over.

“do you have a t shirt on under your hoodie?”

you hesitate.

“yes.”

“are you comfortable taking your hoodie off?”

you hesitate again. nobody's ever seen you in short sleeves, that you know of--.

you're not sure how to react. his gaze is steady, calm. his eyes are always so kind.

you take your hoodie off.

he smiles, fixes you with a warm look. “there you are,” he says. his voice is honey. you feel pale blue erupt in your chest, seeping through your seams.

he gets up, puts a CD in the boombox on his dresser, and begins mixing paint.

you watch out the window, two girls sit bundled on the fire escape in a building opposite. they're laughing, passing a cigarette between them, their figures easy and loose in the distance. you let yourself drift, watching them inch closer on the metal grate. the sun is swallowed by the skyline, and one rests her head on the others’ shoulder. they become one form, soft, precious.

the CD ends. josh stands to change the disc. you feel like you've just been dragged from sleep.

“why would you want to paint me?”

josh looks at you, _the national_ _’_ s jewel case open in his hands. there's a spot of pink paint on his cheekbone.

you look at your own hands, at the puckered incision scars across your palms. they feel more ominous than they ever have.

“because i like the way you look.” he pauses and puts the CD in the player. he doesn't hit play yet.

“and i think you have a gentle soul, and people don't like to look for that in you.” he puts the jewel case on top of the player. “and i think you deserve people seeing that.”

you open your mouth to respond. no words come out. your throat hurts.

“you don't have to answer. i know it's hard,” josh says. his voice sounds like honey again.

you look down at your palms. if you line them up just right, the scars make a trail from the base of your thumb on the left to the base of your pointer finger on your right. point a to point b.

“thank you.” it sounds harsher than intended, but you're surprised you could get anything out in the first place.

“of course. down for another hour?” he asks, letting the moment pass comfortably. not a rush. just point a to point b.

you nod. he smiles, squints his eyes and makes a face. it pulls a laugh from somewhere deep in your chest. you think his smile grows, but maybe it's just the light.

 

-

 

it's past midnight when you finish. josh checked in with you several times, quiet offerings to finish another time if you had somewhere to be early. you shook your head, lulled into some sort of contended trance. your boots have become part of the carpet, and the blankets you sit on have spread to take root inside you. the world turns around you and josh and his easel and his collection of indie rock CDs.

 

josh's face is so soft as he paints. he's turned on a few lamps in the hours that have passed, bathing you both in synthetic warmth. he hums along with the music. he has a sweet voice. something to match the sparrows in the park.

 

he puts down his brush. the music has gone quiet. he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms and grunting. you stretch your neck, tilting left, then right, watching the world tip through your field of vision.

 

“do you want to stay here tonight? it's nearly one.” josh's voice reaches into your consciousness, gently guides you to the surface. you blink.

“it's just. late. you probably shouldn't walk home alone.”

some strange part of you wants to say, _come home with m e,_   _make my cold room warm, for once._ it leaves an unfamiliar taste in your mouth.

“okay," you say instead. your voice cracks. his soft eyes are on you, a heavy blanket. “okay,” you say again, stronger this time.

he smiles. eyes crinkling at the corners. the creases in his face map his emotions so clearly. your whole body feels heavy.

“let me just clean this up,” he gestures to the supplies strewn about his desk. “do you want to borrow some sweats?”

the thought of changing clothes, even with him out of the room, makes your skin crawl. “i'm alright. thank you, though,” you tell him. he nods, somehow seeming to understand.

he slips out with the water cups and brushes. you begin to gather your jacket, and pull your hoodie back over your head, letting the familiar feeling of it ground you. josh pokes his head through the doorway.

“so, uh, my roommate has someone over and they're staying on the couch, it looks like.” he pushes his hair back from his face, looking apologetic. “i can take the floor and you can take the bed, or we can share?”

your palms feel itchy all the sudden, your heart beating wildly. you try to sound normal when you answer.

“we can share, that's fine.” relief washes over josh's face.

“sick, let me grab you a pillow,” and he's gone. you sit back down on the bed, unsure where to go. which side does he usually sleep on? does he sleep in the middle? you don't want to intrude on whatever habits he usually has, and you're about to get up and tell him you're going to walk home anyways when he comes back into the room. he's piled with pillows and blankets, and you can barely see the top of his cloudy blue head.

“i just...grabbed what we had,” he tells you, dropping the armful onto the bed. “are you okay?” his eyes are kind. _i'm not used to the attention you give me, and i'm afraid to accept your kindness._

“yeah, just tired.”

he smiles, and pats your upper arm. “good news, then,” he tells you, and begins sorting through all the blankets piled onto the bed.

 

he’s warm beside you. the room is dark, the air thick and heavy. he’d stripped down to his boxers before climbing in beside you, while you pointedly watched the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. the mattress dipped, the pull of it threatening to pour you against him. you held your ground. he settled in quickly, his breathing evening out within minutes. the bed stilled. you close your eyes, counting the inches of space between you.

 

-

 

you wake before josh does. he’s still fast asleep next to you, blankets kicked around and face mushed into the pillow. his hair fans over his pillowcase, his face slack and gentle. you sit up as gently as possible, tucking the blankets over him. he shifts, mumbles in his sleep. something soft and pliable grows in your chest.

 

there’s a stack of sticky notes on his desk. you leave a note, thanking him, and telling him you’ll call this evening. you sign it;

_tyler x_

is that too much? do you want to leave a kiss? you put the pen down before you can overthink it further.

you pull your coat on, and leave his warm cocoon of a bedroom. the hallway to the apartment door is cold, and the stairwell down to the street colder still. when you open the front door, his warmth rushes out of you in baby blue tendrils, curling from the seams in your hands onto the busy streets before you.

 

-

 

you call josh that evening as you promised. jenna gives you a _look_ as she lets you in, but says nothing. you appreciate this. her apartment smells like brownies this time, and you're dizzy with it by the time you get to the couch. you fiddle with the phone cord while you punch in josh's number. he picks up on the third ring.

“hello?”

“hey, it's tyler. sorry i left so early.” you hope he hears how sincerely you mean it.

“no worries, dude.” he sounds chipper as ever.

a pause.

“oh, you left your book here, by the way,” he continues. “ _never let me go?”_

you forgot about that. you did stick it in your pocket on your way out last night, didn't you.

“shit, yeah, that's mine,” you tell him. the scar on your cheekbone itches. you rub your eye. “i could come get it from your place tomorrow?”

“i work tomorrow. the opening shift,” he says. “if you're at the park around ten i can bring it to you?” he sounds hopeful.

“yeah, yes, that works.”

“awesome. oh, and tyler?”

you hum into the receiver.

“your note was real sweet.” you flush, your face hot. the brownie smell is suffocating you.

before you can answer-- “see you tomorrow.” click.

 

-

 

that night, you lie awake, watching the car headlights from the streets below cast shadows on your ceiling. they dance, and stretch nimble fingers across the popcorn ceiling. you think about josh and the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, about his soft eyes and cloudy hair. your room feels empty. it's unfamiliar, a pinprick of a hole in your seams. you can feel it opening, feel josh's gentle fingertips pulling your stitches apart to make a warm home inside. you close your eyes, and sleep. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to edy and lucy. more coming, in time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for bearing with me while i worked through this chapter.

you arrive at union square park half an hour early the next day. it's ominously cloudy, a ceiling of gray threatening rain. the humidity makes your joints creak. your whole body feels heavy.

 

the sparrows are chipper as ever, hopping circles around your feet, as if they remember you, and the bread you'd had before. they jump from brick to brick on the walkway, and you begin to count the concrete seams between your feet, passing the time.

 

“hey.”

 

you look up. josh is there, sweet and blue, with a parka thrown over his work apron. he looks tired. you want to touch him. you stand up.

 

he reaches into the apron's pocket and pulls out your book. _never let me go_ , with its yellow cover. he hands it to you, and your fingers brush. the book is an anchor in your hand. 

 

“thank you,” you tell him. you try to smile.

 

he smiles back, looks down at both your feet. he looks up again. his cheeks are pink, but it's probably just the cold. he looks down again, and takes your hand, the one without the book.

 

you freeze. all the blood in your body rushes to your hand. it occurs to you, in some vacant, distant sense, that you can't remember the last time you've been touched.

 

he holds your palm in both of his, runs his thumbs from your wrist to your fingertips. he traces along the bumpy scar tissue, thick and knotted. your face itches. your hands are occupied. you open your mouth to say something. he looks up, suddenly.

 

“is this okay? i'm sorry, i just--” he folds your fingers and cradles your fist in both hands. 

 

you can't swallow. _every time you touch me, i feel like a person again_ . you look down at his hands around your own. protective, artist's hands. _is this what it feels like to be loved?_

 

“it’s okay,” you manage. “it’s just. unfamiliar.” his eyes turn soft, warm. they catalogue your face, a quiet observation.

“that's okay,” he says. his voice feels like a warm hand on your cheek. 

“can i call you tonight?” you ask. it's abrupt. he smiles anyways.

“yeah, of course. i should be around this evening--” he furrows his brow. “--and i should probably get back to work.”

 

he's still holding your hand. he brings it to his lips, kisses the top of it. his blue hair falls forward, into his face, brushing your wrist. you can't breathe.

 

“i'll talk to you tonight, tyler,” he tells you. you nod and wave. he waves back, walking backwards down the path. he turns around, and his hair matches the sky.

 

-

 

you start reading _never let me go_ when you get back to your apartment. you go through the motions of removing your shoes, your coat, getting a glass of water, and settling in the stiff armchair in the living area. 

 

the vibrant yellow cover makes your hands look sallow, sad. your fingers are spindly, airy as the thin paperback pages.

 

-

 

you read of a school for children who are special, who are raised to believe they are unique and useful. you read of two girls and a boy, inseparable friends, spending a strange, idyllic childhood sequestered from the rest of the world in the english countryside. something is amiss. you can't tell what it is.

 

-

 

the shower you take that night is long and warm. josh's arms are around you. you stand under the water until you feel yourself swaying, knees tired and eyelids heavy. 

 

you swipe your hand against the mirror, clearing the fog from the glass. if you turn your head the right way, your face seems whole. your reflection watches you carefully as you pull a towel off the hook on the door, and dry off.

 

 _never let me go_ stays on the armchair in the living room. 

 

you lay awake for hours that night. upstairs, your neighbors shout, heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak. you fall asleep fitfully. your scars itch. the building sighs.

 

you forget to call josh.

 

-

 

it rains the next day. your joints ache, but you take your walk anyways. you weave through commuters, dodging umbrellas as they pass. you are invisible, hood up against the rain, face obscured by shadow. you don’t stop at mott and bleecker.

 

there are no tourists in the square, and the birds seem to have resigned themselves to the trees. the benches are wet, so you stand, watching the traffic circle the square, taxi cabs like fish in an endless sea. you find yourself looking for josh’s familiar tuft of blue hair, but the pedestrians passing by in a hurry are strangers, umbrellas and raincoats delicately anonymous on the gray sidewalks. 

 

your knees begin to protest. you walk home carefully. 

 

-

 

“i'm afraid to call josh,” you blurt that night, over chinese food with jenna.

she looks up from her chicken and broccoli. her hair looks so soft. she's in yellow scrubs this time, sunny to contrast with the rain outside.

“why's that?” she asks. there's no judgement.

“i meant to call him last week,” you start, putting your carton down. “and then i forgot.” you wring your hands. “and then i put it off again, and now it's been a week and i don't know how to explain myself.” your thumb rubs over the thick scar on the back of your other hand, between your thumb and forefinger.

“are you afraid he's going to be angry?” she asks. “because from what i can tell, he seems like a pretty easy-going guy. did something happen?”

you swallow your rice. “no- well, yes.” jenna gives you a look. you take a breath. “he held my hand last time i saw him,” you tell her, trying not to let your embarrassment show. you rub the scar on your hand again. “he kissed the back of it before leaving.”

jenna laughs, this little huff of breath. “that's all? you should call him, silly. he won't stay mad, if he even is at all.” she takes a bite of broccoli. “which he probably isn't.” 

you nod. your heart is still racing. you take a breath, and shove another forkful of rice into your mouth.

 

-

 

you read of two girls and a boy, at their boarding school in the countryside. they learn that they are clones, created for organ donation, and they will die young. they accept this fate, unperturbed by the fact that they were created to serve another, and die. 

 

your mouth is dry. your face itches. you close the book, this time putting it inside the drawer in your bedside table. 

 

you fall asleep to the sound of rain, and you dream of the english countryside, of pictures you’ve only seen in books. 

 

-

 

it’s still raining when you wake. you open the curtain to gray skies, and empty streets below. a handful of pigeons sit on a fire escape across the street, pressed together on the railing. you watch another land on the railing, and shuffle closer to the group. it settles beside the others, content. 

 

you cross the hall, and knock on jenna’s door. you hear shuffling inside. your fingers tap an anxious rhythm against your thigh. your knees still ache from your walk yesterday. 

jenna opens the door in a rush, hair damp, with a tank top and half her scrubs on. 

“do you need to use my phone?” she asks.

“is it a bad time?” you wring your hands.

“no, no it’s fine, but i have to leave for work soon,” she tells you, opening the door to let you in. you perch on the edge of her couch, and reach for the phone. you hit the wrong number. you press the receiver, hear the dial tone. you type the number in again, correctly this time. it rings, and rings, and rings.

your face itches. you almost hang up.

“hello?” josh’s voice comes through. he sounds tired. something loosens in your chest, just for a moment, before anxiety grips it again.

“hey. it’s tyler,” you say. too quietly, you think. he hears you anyways.

“oh,” he says. he sounds as nervous as you do. “it’s good to hear from you.”

you scratch your cheek, the scar there. “sorry for vanishing,” you tell him. your voice cracks. “i panicked.”

“it’s okay,” he says. “i understand. it’s hard to let people in sometimes.” the rope around your heart loosens. your blood runs pale, pale blue. a pause. “talk to me, next time, okay?” he asks. his voice is so soft.

“yeah,” you answer, quiet. “i’ll do my best.” 

“thank you.” he sounds like he’s smiling. you try to picture it in your head. there’s a pause, a gentle quiet. the phone crackles in your ear. 

“are you busy today?” he asks. “come to the library with me.” it comes out all in one breath. “take the 6 uptown. walk over to 42nd and 5th.”

you take a second to absorb his question. he waits for you. you’re thankful for this.

“yeah,” you tell him. “i can do that.” he breathes a sigh of relief, and the phone crackles some more. jenna pokes her head into the room, dressed with her coat on. 

“jenna’s kicking me out,” you tell josh, breaking the pause. 

he laughs, infectious. “it’s cool, i’ll see you soon, tyler.”

“see you,” you answer, and the phone clicks. 

you thank jenna, and cross back to your apartment. 

 

-

 

you follow josh’s directions to the library. the rain has cleared by the time you surface at grand central station. the sidewalks are busy, tourists wandering in packs, with businesspeople agitatedly flitting between them. you keep a steady pace, hood obscuring your face. you rarely go up to midtown, and the wealthy and polished exteriors are unsettling. 

 

the library looms as you arrive at 5th avenue. huge and stone, with dramatic archways decorated with perfectly carved statues along the facade. at the bottom of the large staircase, josh leans against one of the stone lions, to the left of the stairs. his hair, wild and frizzy with humidity, echos the lion’s mane. you smile at this. your face feels warm.

 

the wait for the light to turn feels like an eternity. the crowds of people wandering around the entrance to the building are hypnotizing. you keep your eyes fixed on josh's hair, a powder blue beacon.

 

he smiles when he sees you, eyes crinkling up at the corners. it's infectious. your breath comes easy.

 

"can i hold your hand?" he asks, casually. you nod. his ease with touch, with kindness and comfort feels like someone reaching inside you to hold your heart. his hand is warm in yours.

 

josh leads you inside, weaving through the throngs of people milling in the doorways, the lobby. the ceilings are high, and everything echoes. you feel impossibly small. josh squeezes your hand. he leads you up the stairs, mindful of your slow ascent. he stands beside you as you hold the banister, intentionally blocking the flow of people around you. his movements seem so confident, like he knows everything. you trust him.

 

he leads you down a hall, up another staircase, through more ornamented rooms and hallways, and pauses in a grand hall. the ceilings stretch so far above your head, with windows reaching up to the ceiling. cloudy light pours in. the walls are lined with books, more books than you've ever seen. your first instinct is to settle down and read every single one. your second is to not touch a single thing. this is too much, too much for someone like you. josh must sense this. he squeezes your hand again. your eyes follow the lines of people sat at the long tables down the center of the room. students, businesspeople, people who look like you, people who look like josh. people who look nothing like you. their faces are calm. you scratch at your face. 

 

"is it too much?" josh asks. you go to shake your head, but you couldn't lie to him. his eyes are huge and soft.

"yeah. i think so," you answer. he rubs your arm with the hand not holding yours. 

"that's okay. follow me," he says, as if you wouldn't follow him everywhere.

 

josh leads you through another maze of grand hallways a winding staircases. he knows every corner, it seems. he leads you to a room, a smaller room, full of maps and atlases. you weave through shelves and tables, and find yourself in the backmost corner, by a window overlooking the park. the gray sky has kept the rain at bay, it seems. the bare trees shake nervously in the wind. josh is rubbing your arm again, a gentle up and down as your head slowly clears. 

 

"this is my favorite room," he starts, his voice low. "i love finding maps from when we knew so little about the world. we had to imagine how everything fit together." his thumb runs over a seam on your hand.

you inspect the ceiling, cataloging each carving and painting adorning it. his voice is a lullaby. when you look back, he's smiling. 

"do you read a lot?" he asks. you nod.

"there are a lot of books in my apartment. most of them are nonfiction. there's one fiction one i've been working through, though."

" _never let me go_ ," josh says, quietly.

"yeah," you nod. "i'm enjoying it, i think. it's very sad at times." you shrug. "i've always just read what's around. never really gone looking for anything." 

josh smiles, and holds your hand a little tighter.

"maybe when you finish _never let me go_ , we can come back and find you another."

"i'd like that."

josh kisses the back of your hand again. he lingers, just for a moment. the touch is so soft you barely feel it, but watching him feels like you're floating.

 

-

 

jenna knocks at your door a few days later. she's bundled up in her coat, looking pensive.

"when's your birthday, tyler?" she asks.

you pause for longer than you should. you feel detached from your body when you answer, "i don't know." you wait for her to ask the inevitable question, _what do you mean, you don't know?_ , followed by a disdainful look.

"that's okay," she says. "i was just wondering." she looks entirely unperturbed. "i gotta go to work, i'll see you tonight?" 

you find yourself looking for any sign of malice, a joke that you're missing, but there's nothing but kindness in her eyes. they're so blue. you're distracted, just for a moment.

"yeah," you answer, coming back to yourself. "that sounds good."

 

-

 

you borrow jenna's phone while she cleans up the chinese food containers. you'd tried to help, but she swatted your hand, insisting you " _go call your boy_."

 

josh answers on the second ring.

"hey, tyler," he'd said, and you realize you're not really sure why you're calling. "what's up?"

"i just wanted to hear your voice," you say, and it feels stupid the moment it leaves your mouth, but josh huffs this soft little laugh, so maybe it's alright.

"y'know that painting you sat for a few weeks ago?" his voice is impossibly gentle. you close your eyes.

"yeah?"

"i want to touch up some things on it, would you mind coming by sometime soon?"

"oh, yeah sure," you answer. the words catch in your throat, but he must have understood you, for the little laugh he lets out. 

"are you around tomorrow?"

"i'm around all the time," you answer.

"six-thirty, then? we can order pizza." he sounds genuinely excited about this prospect. 

"pizza sounds really good," you say. 

"i'll see you then, tyler. take care of yourself." his voice is soft, sleepy, like he's settling down for bed.

"see you." you hear him breathe for a beat, before the receiver clicks. you imagine him in his room, surrounded by art and music and the warmest blankets. you feel blue in your fingertips.

 

-

 

the next day, the sun is out. your walk to josh's is unseasonably warm. you leave your parka unzipped.

 

the walk up to josh's floor seems shorter than before, as if three strides took you all the way to his stoop. he opens the door almost immediately after you knock. his smile is so warm and open.

"hey, tyler," he says, and pulls you into a hug. it warms you more than the unusual weather.

 

josh's room hasn't changed at all, really. the windows are open, letting in a refreshing draft. the painting of you is leaned against his bed. it's not finished, but you can see yourself on the canvas, taking shape. the light today is similar to the light last time. it mimics the canvas in front of you.

"pizza?" josh asks from the doorway.

"yes," you answer. josh laughs.

"what do you want on it?" he asks, smile playful.

"i don't know," you say. you're not used to options. you can't remember if you've ever had pizza.

"let's go with cheese, then," josh says, unfazed. he smiles at you, before ducking out to call the restaurant.

 

cheese pizza is good, you've decided. you shared the small pie between you on josh's bedroom floor. he told you stories about his roommates while you ate. his laughter was infectious. you found yourself wanting to meet his roommates. 

 

josh slides another album into the player, _rilo kiley,_ he tells you. the cover is a dark blue. a comforting blue.

you strip down to your t-shirt again as josh settles his paints and sets up his easel. it's gotten easier, this baring of skin. it almost feels familiar, this time. you try and hold onto the feeling. it feels safe to let it bloom here, in this warm room with this gentle boy.

you let yourself drift, focusing on your own breath in your lungs and the tuft of josh's hair peeking out from behind the canvas. the light changes, the music ends. you drift back into the room.

"want to see?" josh asks. you nod. you roll your neck before standing shaking movement back into your joints as you move to look at the canvas.

the first thing you notice are your eyes. you don't know why, but you can't tear yourself away from them, not at first. you feel like you're looking at another living, breathing version of yourself somewhere. a duplicate, perhaps intended for greater things.

your scars are rendered exactly as they are. it makes your head spin for a moment. by no means photorealistic, the rendering of them is imprecise but entirely accurate, not hiding nor minimizing their presence on your face and arms. 

"do you like it?" josh asks. it shakes you from your inspection.

you hesitate.

"yes," you land on. 

"it's okay, you don't have to love it," josh says.

"i do like it," you try again. "i'm just…" you scratch your face absentmindedly. "i'm not used to seeing myself so…clearly."

josh's face softens. "hey," he says.

you look at him. his face is so overwhelmingly gentle. you want to look away, but you can't. it seems like he's going to say something, but instead, he brings a hand to your cheek. you close your eyes, and try to sit with the sensation without pulling away. 

"hey," he says again. you open your eyes. "can i kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

you nod, timid. you want this, you know it deep down, but you can't get yourself to move any faster than this. josh seems fine with this.

his other hand comes to your cheek, cradling you, before he kisses you. it's not electric or any of the other words you've read about kissing. it's quiet, unobtrusive. it's so very josh. his lips are chapped but gentle, moving enough to encourage, but not to force. you're suddenly aware of the scar through your top lip. you hope he doesn't mind, but at this point, you know it's too late. 

when josh pulls away, the room feels warmer, smaller. one of the hands on your cheek moves to stroke your hair. it's soothing, but you feel like you're short circuiting from the sensation. you close your eyes again.

"stay the night?" josh asks.

you nod. you're not sure you have any words right now. you stand when josh stands, letting him guide you to the bed. he kisses your cheek.

"let me clean up, i'll be back in a sec."

you nod, and sit down on the bed. you think of the things you've read, of the ways couples lay together, the way they are casually intimate. you think of yourself, of the way you are perceived by others, and the way you are perceived by josh. you think, and you breathe, and while josh is washing his brushes in the sink, you remove your shirt and your jeans, until you are in just your boxers. 

when josh returns you're still sitting on the edge of his bed, mostly unclothed. he sets his brushes down, and stands in front of you. he touches your cheek, just for a moment, before removing his shirt and pants as well. his body is pale, spotted with freckles and soft, so soft. you reach out, and touch his torso, his stomach. you hold his hips in your hands feeling how warm he is. when you look up, his eyes are closed. you look back at your hands. you look further, finding several clean white lines across his thigh.

you touch those without thinking, only because they resemble some of your own scars, the ones on your stomach and chest. he's opened his eyes now, and is watching you intently.

"it was awhile ago," he says, quietly. "it's been a long time." 

you nod. he takes one of your hands, kisses the back of it like he did in the park that day. "c'mon," he says. he climbs into the bed beside you, settling at your side. he hovers a hand over your chest.

"can i?" he asks, without judgement. you nod.

his hand is warm on your chest, the kind of warmth that fills your whole body.

he runs a careful finger along the scar over your heart, to where it joins with another at a juncture. he splays his fingers over it, as if he could reach through the seams and pull your heart from your ribcage. god knows you'd give it to him. he lifts his hand, and kisses the junction between two scars. he looks at you, eyes heavy and lidded.

“what happened?”

your eyes sting. you're not sure why. 

“i don't know,” you answer, barely above a whisper. you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

josh crashes into you then, pitching forward to gather you in his arms. you feel him everywhere, pressed chest to chest, a hand in your hair, on your back, his nose tucked against your neck, whispering nonsense against you. you feel your heart pressing against your ribcage, trying to touch his pressed so close. he's so close.

he turns his head, and kisses the side of your face. he kisses your forehead, your brow, your chin. his eyes are wet. you feel guilty, suddenly. 

you touch his cheek. smooth, marred only with acne scars, dark circles. smooth, by any standards. soft, gentle. 

you stay like this, tucked into each other in his bed for what feels like hours. the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling start to blur as your eyes grow heavy. 

josh sits up slowly, hands not leaving your face and chest. he looks at you for a long moment, and his face is so open, love and caring and desire all so present. you feel like a voyeur looking at him. his hand holds your cheek, steady.

"it's okay," he says. "you'll be okay."

you believe him.

 

-

 

on december first, jenna knocks on your door. 

"are you busy?" she asks.

she's holding pan of brownies in front of her, with a box wrapped in celebratory paper under her arm.

"no," you tell her, and open the door. 

she deposits the pan of brownies on the counter, and makes quick work of cutting one out and handing it to you on a plate. she points to your kitchen table.

"sit."

you sit.

"i've decided today is your birthday," she announces. 

"have you, now?" you answer, and she laughs.

"shh, go with it," she insists. "so, because it's your birthday, i got you something."

she hands you the box. you unwrap it carefully while she watches with her chin on her palms.

the box is small, and inside is a small cell phone. you pick it up, and flip it open. 

"a phone," you say, rather dumbly.

"yes," she says. "now you can call josh yourself, instead of using my phone all the time," she laughs.

you laugh too, a big belly one that catches you by surprise. "thank you," you tell her. you really, really mean it. "i mean it."

she laughs again, and gets up to leave. "go call him," she says. she points to the brownies. "and return my pan tomorrow." she winks.

"yes ma'am," you tell her. you wait for the front door to close, and press the power button on the phone. it flickers to life, showing a default background. you key in josh's number from memory, now, and hold it to your ear.

"hello?" josh answers after the second ring.

"hey, it's tyler," you say. "are you busy later?"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and for being so patient.  
> easter egg: josh is leaning against the left lion in front of the new york public library. that lion's name is "patience."
> 
> come say hi on [ tumblr](http://notdonenotdun.tumblr.com), if you like. i've also made some art about it [here](https://notdonenotdun.tumblr.com/tagged/frankenstein-au). as always, endless thanks to my darling edy.


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